[h2][color=khaki]Martin Lowry[/color][/h2]

It was in the horrible pit of his stomach did Martin realize he could die. The second wing had become detached and the body of the plane nosed forwards towards the bottom of the dark ocean. Martin assessed the situation, alert eyes darting about. He was still buckled in, [i]That will not do.[/i], the emergency oxygen mask floated in front of him, bubbles occasionally burping out if he yellow cup. [i]Bubbles..[/I] To Martin's knowledge the plane was now completely submerged. Hands like spiders felt for the belt around his waist, the slowly growing heat in his chest a reminder that the air in his lungs was only good for so long. The belt fell apart with little effort and Martin pushed himself forwards towards the bobbing yellow mask, drifting towards it. The odd sensation of weightlessness reminded him of the astronauts he saw on the television. Taking the mask in his many fingered hand, Martin tugged it firmly towards himself and brought it around his mouth and nose, tightening it on either end. For the first few moments of air he struggled with water, but once cleared he looked about himself and breathed normally. 

There were several blown out escape doors, however the closest exit was a few seats ahead of him, a large gash in the airplane fuselage that let in a guttering amber glow. In the overhead compartment Martin's bag bobbed about, no doubt every bit as soaked as the rest of the plane. But wet things dried. Martin moved out of his seat, climbing over the unfortunate passenger that sat beside him before being able to reach his bag. As he did the plane let loose another pained groan and the gnarly gash in the ceiling of the cabin began to claw its way around the plane. Like a bottle shattering around its circumstance the rend in the aluminium body moved around the plane and joined up with itself as it wrapped around. With a low grown the front of the plane began to lurch downwards, pulling the rest of the body with it before the nose and cockpit tore off and fell away, exposing the dark ocean below. The rest of the plane, or at least the rest of the plane that he could see, nodded forwards and began to follow the cockpit in a steepening downward dive.

Martin moved swiftly, getting to the surface as fast as possible was part of his naval training, incase he had ever been posted to a submarine. Martin slipped out of the plane silently, and went straight up, kicking behind him and blowing a steady stream of bubbles as he moved. In front of him, or above him, an orange light flickered and danced. At first Martin thought it was sunlight playing through particularly patchy clouds, but the closer he got he realized that it was burning aviation fuel. Martin paused and looked about, a tightness growing in his chest as he felt himself becoming breathless. Looking around him he was dismayed to find that that the surface above him was ablaze, if he surfaced he would probably be burned badly; if he didn't he would drown. His calm demeanor quickly melted away as his looking around became frantic. But as if by providence there was a dark patch in the field of amber glow, and he swam to it as quick as he dared. A few meters from the surface his body took over and allowed in a deep breath of briny water. The last few paddles Martin coughed and spluttered and choked, and as he surfaced and found floating debris to cling on to, began retching sea water and whatever had filled his stomach before the accident. For a few moments he lay panting on the section of board.

Then Martin started to laugh.